Only Time
by orianna-2000
Summary: When the Doctor accidentally crosses his timeline, he is given the chance to spend three days with Rose . . . after Doomsday.
1. Where the Day Flows

_This is a non-profit work of fan-fiction based upon the television series _Doctor Who_. All related characters, places, and events, belong to the BBC, and Russell T. Davies, used without permission. This story, with all original content, belongs to the author, © 2008._

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_**Only Time**_  
by Orianna2000 

**Chapter One – _Where the Day Flows_**

"_Who can say where the road goes, where the day flows? Only time." —Enya_

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

On the first day, Rose Tyler found the TARDIS where it should not have been.

At first, she deliberately walked right past it, huddling into her jacket and shivering from the damp breeze. The Doctor had dropped them off early that morning, insisting that they take a few days holiday so Mickey could recover from his first official adventure in Time and Space. He'd said he wouldn't return for a few days and that he'd be busy tracking down some rare but vital parts for the TARDIS.

Of course, she knew it was rubbish. He just wanted to be alone, and why didn't he bother saying so? God forbid the almighty Time Lord should need time off.

That said, why would he park the TARDIS near the Powell Estate, in plain view of anyone who bothered to look? Rose glanced back at the TARDIS and bit her lip. Maybe he wanted to apologise. Or maybe he'd just decided he didn't want to be alone after all. She pulled her phone out to see if he had tried to call while she'd been down at Mickey's flat. But no, he wouldn't ask her to come back, would he? He'd wait and let her return of her own choice.

A sudden downpour of rain decided for her. It would take longer to reach the flat than it would to reach the TARDIS. She ran.

At first her key wouldn't turn in the lock. Her heart skipped a few beats as she tried again, her mind refusing to even _think_ about the possibility that he would've locked her out of the TARDIS. She pressed one hand against the blue wood panelling and tried one last time, removing her key and then sliding it back into the lock, in case it had got jammed. This time it turned easily; she pushed open the door with a sigh of relief.

The green light of the time rotor brightened when she walked in, but the room itself stayed eerily dark. At least it didn't feel creepy, not with the TARDIS broadcasting a silent welcome that tickled the back of Rose's mind. It felt like coming home after a long holiday. Granted, to an unlit and freezing flat . . . but home nonetheless.

As she walked up the ramp she could see the Doctor—or a shadow that she assumed to be the Doctor—sitting on the floor beneath the console, greasy mechanical parts scattered about within reach.

"What's all this?" She kept her tone light and tried not to sound concerned. As she spoke, she hung her damp jacket up on the coat rack and began to wring the water out of her hair. "Change your mind, Doctor?"

He didn't give any indication that he'd heard her. Perhaps he hadn't. She knew how he got involved in his work, especially when bothered by something, to the point where he'd shut out everything in order to concentrate. Except, he didn't seem to be working. He hadn't moved since she'd walked in. If she didn't know better, she'd say that he'd fallen asleep. Imagine that—the Doctor, sleeping! He must not have been expecting her then, or else he hadn't expected to fall asleep. Typical, that.

Rose leaned against one of the organic columns and cleared her throat. "Doctor?"

He inhaled and jerked awake, consequently banging his head on the underside of the console. While she smothered a laugh, he gave a short curse in his native language and leaped to his feet. "Right then! Where're we off to?" he asked loudly.

From her vantage point, Rose watched as the Doctor danced around the console, pressing buttons and twirling dials. "How about . . . Jamaica? The planet, not the island. Their beaches are rubbish but they've a spectacular meteor shower this time of year. Sky filled with trails of fire. Or . . . or! The moons of Ceox'a'tesh. Rainbow sunsets that last twenty-one hours each. What do you—oh." He stopped mid-sentence and fell still, facing away from Rose. "Never mind. What am I chattering on about? No one to impress but myself."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Shall I go fetch Mickey, then? You can babble on about spaceships and moondust all you want with 'im. You needn't bother for my sake. I'll go anywhere, me."

"That so?" He rubbed at his face and sighed.

"Whatcha doing back so early? I _knew_ you couldn't last three days without me," she said, with only a trace of gloating.

He straightened his jacket, taking the time to redo the buttons. "Well, you're being rude! I thought figments of one's imagination were always polite and well behaved, lest they get chucked into the refuse bin. Although . . . considering whose imagination you've come from, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Rude and not ginger, that's me. And you, come to think of it."

"_I'm_ being rude? Oi! At least I've never called you a—what was it? A figment? That's what I get for checking on you, I suppose. Not that I could've stayed out there in that rain. Cats and dogs out there." She shivered a bit. "What're you doing sleeping out here, anyway? Bed too comfortable?"

The Doctor stared at her. "What?"

She rolled her eyes and pushed away from the pillar. "I said, is your bed too comfortable? Just look at you, all rumpled. Your hair's sticking up every which way—you look like a hedgehog!"

"What?" he repeated, his voice sharp and his eyes wide.

"If this is you first thing in the morning, no wonder you never sleep." And after all the teasing she'd put up with about her own early morning appearance! With a stern look, Rose crossed over to the Doctor and combed her fingers through his hair, trying to smooth it out. He convulsed at her touch, took a half step backward, and ended up tripping over the box of tools left out. She reached out and tried to grab his arm as he began to fall, but he jerked away from her and grabbed onto the console instead. With equal parts confusion and hurt, she watched as he hauled himself upright and then stumbled backwards to the other side of the console, all without taking his eyes off her.

"What's got into you?" She crossed her arms, a bit hurt. "I was just tryin' to help."

He pulled his glasses out of a pocket, slipped them on, and peered at her from behind the lenses. Apparently unsatisfied, he threw the glasses onto the console. They clattered against a knob and then came to a halt beside the vortex manipulator controls. He made a sudden sound and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. As he began scanning himself, he muttered, "S'got to be a hallucination. Either that or I'm still asleep. Could be an especially vivid dream, I suppose, though it seems real enough."

"What're you on about? And if you won't answer that, will you at least tell me what you're doing back so soon? You said three days, right? And it's not even been one. I wouldn't even have noticed the TARDIS was here, except that I was on my way home from Mickey's. Did you get the dates wrong again?" She rubbed at her arms, feeling gooseflesh against her fingertips. "Blimey, it's cold in here!"

He tossed the sonic screwdriver beside his glasses. Then he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Mickey?"

"Yeah. We watched a football game he'd taped while we were gone. All of time and space, but he can't stand to miss a match." She made a face. "So, have you changed your mind? Shall I go fetch 'im?"

He looked at her blankly.

"D'you want to leave already? Shall I go and get Mickey? You know: _Mickey_. Short bloke, dark skin. Also known as Rickey, or 'the idiot'. Been travelling with us." She narrowed her eyes at him. Something definitely seemed off. "Sure you didn't hit your head when you fell?"

"No. No, I don't think so. Although, maybe I did." He ran a hand through his hair, ostensibly to check his scalp for bruises, but with the result of making his hair look even more wild. "I don't understand it. You're here. And you _shouldn't_ be here."

She nodded slowly. "Right. I'll just go, yeah?"

He reacted immediately and violently, running around the console to block her path to the door. With his eyes focused on her face, he held a finger up in remonstration. "No! No, no—no. No!"

"Look, s'all right. You're not ready for company yet. When I saw the TARDIS, I thought maybe . . . but I was wrong. I should've just kept walking, but you know me. Had to be sure you were okay."

"Don't go. Rose, please." He reached for her, but pulled his hand back without touching her.

The nebulous look in his eyes worried Rose. She sighed and crossed her arms. "Look. If you want me to stick around, can you at least turn the heat up—and maybe put the lights on?"

"Yes! Yes, I can do that. Definitely, yes!" He seemed relieved to have something to occupy himself with. After dashing back to the controls, he flipped open a small control box. He glanced around the room and then tapped in some numbers. "Heat? Yes, there we go. Temperature raised to human normal—bit warm for me, but I'll get used to it. Always do. And lights! No problem."

Slowly the lighting came up, changing from a dim amber to a warm golden glow that contrasted with the blue-green of the time rotor. Rose rubbed her arms again, but she could feel the air growing warmer. "That's better. What'd you keep it so cold for, anyway?"

"No humans around," he answered, still fiddling with the controls. "No reason to keep it so hot. Saves a bit of energy, too."

"What d'you mean, _hot_? It's always a bit nippy in here."

"For you." He lifted a hand to point at her, then gestured vaguely at himself. "Time Lord, remember? Different physiology. My normal body temperature is a bit more than twenty degrees lower than yours. What's chilly to you is just about right for me. If you'd ever visited Gallifrey, you'd have wanted a coat, but I could've walked around in shirtsleeves. Well, I could've if it wouldn't have got me imprisoned for irreverence. Former presidents are supposed to maintain the image, after all."

She walked over to the console and casually leaned against it, aware that the Doctor kept looking at her out of the corner of his eyes, even though he tried to appear nonchalantly busy. "So, Gallifrey? Where's that, then, our next destination?"

"What? No . . . no. Here." He activated the monitor and slid it around to her.

Rose examined the screen, curious. It showed a view of sharp mountains carved from glaciers. The snow reflected back a luminous dark orange; the entire sky glowed as though in the last stages of sunset. After a moment, the scene changed to show a city enclosed by a forcefield. The orange sky reflected off the glass buildings with a thousand sparks of light, so that it coruscated with life.

"It's beautiful," she said softly. "Why can't we go there?"

"Oh, you would've loved it. The mountains, the sky, the Citadel." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "But it's gone, now. Consumed in flames. Nothing but dust and rocks orbiting a black hole."

"Gallifrey. It's your home," she realised with a jolt. "You never said what it was called before."

He shrugged and Rose noticed something. She furrowed her brow. "Doctor, what happened to your suit? I thought it was just the lighting, but it's not—you're wearing blue! Since when do you wear a blue suit?"

He glanced down at the wrinkled trousers. "Oh. Dark blue is the colour of mourning on Gallifrey. It's just something I put on," he added quickly.

"No, it's not. Look, it's okay. I understand. You need more time, yeah?" Rose ran a hand through her damp hair and gave a sad laugh. "I keep thinking, why should you mourn for someone who's been dead three hundred years? But it hasn't been that long, has it? Not for us. Not for you."

"Three hundred years?" He made a face of confusion. "Blimey! It hasn't been that long, has it?"

She snorted. "All right, so I'm not good at maths. No fair rubbing it in. Three hundred, two hundred fifty, whatever. My point is that I keep expecting you to just get over it, but you can't. It's not that easy when you just said goodbye yesterday."

"Yesterday? What're you talking about?" He stared at her with a wrinkle above his nose. "Wait a minute. How can you even know what happened? That's impossible!"

"I was _there_, remember? Me and Mickey—on the spaceship, waiting for you? You _sure_ you didn't hit your head back there?"

He put one hand on his forehead and closed his eyes. "Spaceship? Mickey. Of course! You just got back from Mickey's first trip in the TARDIS. Clockwork robots, time portals to eighteenth-century France, Madame de Pompadour. I acted a right git that day, didn't I?"

"Yeah, that's right. Not that I blame you. You always try to save everybody, and you wouldn't be the Doctor if you didn't." She lifted one shoulder in half-hearted acceptance. "You just dropped us off here this morning—said Mickey needed time to adjust, to figure out if travelling with us is what he really wants. But I know you just wanted to be alone."

The Doctor nodded with a wry smile. "Went off to sulk a bit, I did. Was gone a couple of weeks, though it was only a few days on your end. Did some work on the vortex stabilizers, picked up a few parts on . . . what was that place called? Ryax VII, wasn't it? Found a bazaar that sold rare ship components, bought up everything they had that would integrate with the TARDIS' systems. Came back three days later, from your point of view. I remember."

Rose stared at the Doctor. All the little things started adding up in her head—his despondency, the startled way he'd reacted upon seeing her, the blue suit, the way he'd talked about things—they all swirled together, until she finally inhaled with comprehension.

"You're not my Doctor. You're from the future."

_-.-.-.-.-.-.-_

The Doctor gave a short nod. "Clever girl."

She started backing toward the door. "I shouldn't be here."

"No! Rose. Listen to me," he said, taking several quick steps to reach her. She tried to turn toward the door, but he caught her by the arms. "Rose! _Please_! Don't go."

She wriggled in his grasp. "Doctor, you're from my future—it'll make a paradox."

"No." He pointed an admonishing finger at her, still gripping her arm with his other hand. "No, it won't. We're inside the TARDIS. We're protected here."

Rose jerked her head from side to side. After meeting her father, and almost destroying the world, she'd read up on paradoxes, causality, uncertainty principles, and a lot of other complex things that had given her a headache. What she'd come away with was the understanding that crossing your timeline was _bad_. It was dangerous and easily led to paradoxes, which led to all manner of bad things, including Reapers. If she could figure that out, why couldn't he? She tried to speak slowly, to make him understand. "Doctor, it isn't_ safe_. I _can't_ be here."

"Yes—yes, you can! That's what I'm trying to tell you."

"Don't tell me anything. Don't you dare! I've seen what Reapers can do, and I'm not having it."

He started to speak, but she wrenched free enough so that she could clamp her hands over her ears. "You're going to cause a paradox. I'm not listening!"

"Rose! Stop that and just hear me out. This is important."

She screwed her eyes shut so she couldn't see his lips moving.

The next thing she knew, something soft and cool pressed against her mouth. Lips. Chilled alien lips, kissing her. The Doctor. _Kissing_ her.

Gasping, she opened her eyes. He pulled back and cautiously met her gaze. She stared, frozen and astonished. When she spoke, she stuttered, still feeling the strange sensation on her lips. "We . . . but, we don't—we don't do that."

"Right. Of course," he answered, too quickly. He let go and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Don't know what I was thinking."

And then he kissed her again.

His hands pressed against her jaw, holding her face as he brushed his lips against hers. A sharp tingle jolted through her with the contact, almost a physical shock, but it carried with it a wave of desire. She found herself kissing him back, savouring the odd contrast of the warmth of her mouth and the coolness of his. It reminded her of his alien nature in a way she couldn't ignore.

As enthusiastically as he kissed, he lacked finesse and ease of experience. Rose got the impression that the Doctor had never kissed anyone like this before. Certainly he'd kissed—in over nine hundred years, he could hardly have avoided it. But not like this—not deliberately, where the gentle touch of tongues that sent shivers through her body _meant_ something. And she could tell that it meant _everything_ to him, for she could feel him shaking, his body pressed against hers with a longing that frightened her.

"_Rose. Oh, Rose._" His whispers echoed in her mind, intertwined with a fragile melody, and she could feel his desperation, his melancholy, and his overpowering need. It coursed through her, igniting every cell in her body. Her skin tingled where he stroked her. Every touch felt like icy fire as he caressed her arms, her neck, the small of her back where her shirt rode up.

She broke away from the kiss, but kept her arms around him so he wouldn't take it as a rejection. He buried his face in her shoulder and trembled. With soft, soothing strokes, she rubbed the back of his neck. She could think of only one explanation for all of this. "I'm dead—aren't I?"

"No!" His head came up instantly, his voice intense. "No, you're not dead."

"It's all right. I hope it was a good death," she said softly.

The Doctor shook his head firmly. "No. You didn't—you're _gone_. But not dead! I promise. We . . . we got separated. There was nothing I could do—I tried. I tried everything. But I can't get to you, it's impossible. But," he added, "you're not alone. You have your family with you: your mum, and Mickey, and—well. Everyone you care about."

"Except you."

He pulled her tight against him once more, and whispered, so that she could barely hear his words. "I miss you. You don't know what it's like . . . day after day, alone. I go on, but I wonder what for? What's the point in saving the universe when I'm alone?"

"You're not alone now," she pointed out gently, grazing the side of his neck with her fingers.

"No. No, I'm not." His eyes met hers and he started to smile. "But this is brilliant! I can take you with me! We can go on, just like before, so long as I eventually return you to this same point in time. It'll be like old times, yeah?"

But Rose shook her head. Her hands slid down to the Doctor's chest. "We can't do that. You _know_ we can't—it's too dangerous. What if something happened? Suppose I got hurt or killed, or you got the dates wrong and didn't get me back on time? It'd make a right mess of everything. And besides," she said softly, "sooner or later, you'd have to give me up again."

He pulled away and turned his back on her. His hand found its way into the back of his hair and tugged at the strands with a nervous emphasis. "I can't do this, Rose. I can't lose you again."

"That's why I can't go with you. But. . . ." And she furrowed her forehead in thought. "We have time, yeah? You—the other you—aren't going to come back for me and Mickey for another three days."

"That isn't enough time," he said bluntly. "I can't spend three days with you and then let go, knowing I'll never see you again. I can't do that—I _won't_. It'll break me."

Rose felt her heart twist. She took a step forward and slid her hand into his. "Look, there has to be a reason why you found me, here and now. What if . . . what if you didn't spend all three days with me at once? You're a Time Lord, yeah? So, what if you only spent one day with me, and then came back the next day? Like rationing your chocolates, eating 'em one by one to draw out the fun. It'd only be a few hours for me, but for you—you could wait and only come back every so often . . . when you need to."

The Doctor turned to look at Rose, a peculiar expression on his face. "One day at a time?"

She nodded uncertainly. Who knew where the idea had come from—it had just sort of spilled out of her. He'd probably call her a stupid ape and then go on to explain why such a plan was foolish or impossible. . . .

But then, he wouldn't be smiling at her, would he? Not that it came anywhere close to his normal grin, which never failed to make her smile in return. Still, it was a start.

"Rose Tyler. You never cease to amaze me," he said and tugged her close. "You're brilliant, that's what. Absolutely _brilliant_. I couldn't bear to have you for three days and then never see you again. But a whole day? Knowing I could come back whenever I want? That . . . I think I can do. Three days of summer, that's what this is."

A little wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. "But . . . it's February."

"'I question not if thrushes sing, if roses load the air; beyond my heart I need not reach, when all is summer there,'" he quoted in reply. Rose just stared at him, so he continued, "John Vance Cheney, a nineteenth century poet said that, and he's right: so long as you're with me, it's warm and the sun is shining. Well . . . not_ technically_, unless you count the time rotor's light. But, you know, _metaphorically_! I love metaphors, don't you?"

She snorted in response. The Doctor wrapped his arms around her and pressed his forehead against hers, sobering just a bit.

"It's a cold universe without Rose Tyler at my side, but this'll be like Indian summer—isn't that what you call it? When it gets warm again after the first frost. A second chance, that's what this is. A gift! The best present anyone's ever given me. Although . . . that does make it seem a bit more like Christmas than summer, doesn't it? But . . . oh, but!" The pitch of his voice rose, along with his eyebrows, as he worked through the problem. "In Australia, December comes in the middle of summer, right? So I suppose that works after all, doesn't it? Well . . . _technically_, I suppose we'd have to take the TARDIS down under, but I've always been a bit shy of Australia. Well, at least, ever since the great Marsupial Rebellion of 2901. D'you remember that, Rose? All those kangaroos trying to kill us! Hopping for our lives, trying to get away! It was loads of fun, and fantastic exercise, but it's definitely put me off of Australia."

And then Rose decided that he'd babbled on enough.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

During a break from snogging each other breathless, they agreed that he would leave at midnight and return early the next morning. She tried to get him to leave only a few minutes in-between visits, to maximise their time together, but he insisted that she required at least six hours sleep, and besides, it wasn't a good idea to materialize without a healthy chronological gap.

"The TARDIS isn't always dead accurate, you know," he pointed out. "She tries, poor old girl, but there's a random glitch in her navigation systems; I've tried a hundred times but haven't been able to fix it."

So, like a male version of Cinderella, the Doctor had to leave by midnight. "And the original truly was a man," he admitted conspiratorially. "Youngest son of a quite large peasant family in Britannia, without a lot of prospects. No magic involved, just a few well-placed bribes during Saturnalia. He managed to ensure that he and the girl he fancied were crowned king and queen for the event, but he always had to disappear before she could learn his identity. For three years, he did this, and each time she became more enamoured with her festival 'spouse'."

"How'd she find out who he was, then?" Rose asked, curled up against him on the seat beside the console. "Did he leave a shoe behind when he ran off? Or his mask, maybe?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No shoes or masks. But he did leave something behind, eventually. See, the first year it was just a few shy kisses under the mistletoe, but the year after that, things progressed quite a bit. The year after _that_, well. . . ." He cleared his throat significantly. "Let's just say that on the fourth year, he showed up and found his Saturnalia queen carrying a three month old baby in her arms."

"And they lived happily ever after," she concluded wryly.

"Well . . . it was the one sure way of guaranteeing a bride, back then." He shrugged. "Shotgun wedding and all that. Or rather—broadsword wedding, since black powder hadn't been invented."

"You know," Rose said, "I think Mum was always worried that I'd come back from one of our adventures pregnant with an alien baby. I dunno if she was more afraid of me being a single teenage mum, or of her grandchild having tentacles."

"Oi! I don't have tentacles! Well," he added gravely, "only the one, anyway."

Rose half-giggled half-snorted, and buried her head against the Doctor's chest. He put his arm around her. "Besides, haven't I always been a proper gentleman? Gave you your own room and bath, never made any untoward advances."

"Yeah, you're awfully dense, aren't you?"

"Hmm?"

She lifted her head and raised her eyebrows at him.

It took a few seconds, but finally he blinked as her meaning sunk in. "Oh? Yes, well, I suppose you did say you loved me, after all, and you didn't exactly slap me when I kissed you earlier this afternoon."

"Wait—what?"

"You said we didn't do that sort of thing, and then you kissed me right back. Blimey, it was just a few hours ago! D'you mean you don't remember?" He stared at her with concern.

"No, I remember _that_. Don't think I'll ever forget," she said with a bit of a blush. "It's the saying 'I love you' part that I don't recall. When did that happen?"

As she watched, his whole expression changed, going from haunted to deliberately blank in a matter of seconds.

She nodded thoughtfully. "Before I . . . before we got separated, yeah? Or when it happened?"

"No. Actually, it was after." He breathed out and continued in a rush. "I couldn't get to you, but I was able to send a hologram through, sort of like a inter-universal telephone call. We didn't have long, but I was stupid and nervous and spent most of the time babbling about your family. You were the smart one—didn't waste a minute. Got right to the point, you did. I tried to tell you, then, but. . . ."

"You ran out of time. . . ." she finished for him, with tears in her eyes.

"I'm a Time Lord; time ought to be under my command, but instead it's the opposite. I never have enough time when it matters most." He let out a shaky chuckle. "That's what happens when you don't pay attention in class, I suppose. Never did get high grades at the Academy."

This time, _she_ kissed _him_ . . . and the voices in her mind sang of love.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When the time came, all too soon, she wondered if the Doctor would rebel and try to keep her with him despite the danger of creating a paradox. He clung to her, beside the door, and she wanted to cry on his behalf. After all, she still had plenty of time left with her Doctor. But this future Doctor . . . he'd already lost her.

But instead of making a fuss, he kissed her one last time and then bravely let go.

"I'll see you in the morning, right?" She tugged fondly at his tie.

He grinned, and no one but Rose would notice the tightness at the corners of his smile or the strained look in his eyes. "First thing."

"Right then. Keep out of trouble, yeah?"

"Oh, you know me. . . ."

"I do! So, stay out of trouble."

He gave a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am."

And though he couldn't risk stepping out of the TARDIS to walk her to her door, Rose felt the Doctor's gaze follow her all the way the home.

_(To Be Continued. . . .)_

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_**Author's Notes:** This story contains three long chapters, plus an epilogue. The rating given is for non-explicit love scenes in later chapters. For her excellent beta-reading and Brit-picking, I have to thank **ShinyOpals**._


	2. Why Your Heart Sighs

**Chapter Two – _Why Your Heart Sighs_**

"_Who can say why your heart sighs as your love flies? Only time." _—Enya

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next morning, Rose came around the corner just in time to see the TARDIS materialize. Something about the rise and fall of the engines sounded a bit off, so she tightened her grip on the two mugs of hot tea and sped up her pace. She'd thought that she might have a hard time with Mickey—she didn't want to explain about the tightly-controlled paradox, lest his curiosity led him to accompany her to see this future Doctor for himself—but he'd seemed content enough to be at home with a week's worth of recorded football matches to watch and half a dozen leftover cartons of Chinese take-away.

Juggling the mugs of tea against one arm, Rose slid her key into the lock. This time the door opened easily. She wondered if the Doctor had changed the keys after he'd lost her. That might explain why, when she'd visited yesterday, the door had refused to open until she'd pressed her hand against the TARDIS. Since she'd become the Bad Wolf, she and the TARDIS had developed a bond, and Rose knew that the ship would never keep her locked out, even if she had the wrong key.

Once inside the TARDIS, Rose noticed that the Doctor was nowhere in sight. She also noticed a lot of extra cables looped across the floor around the console, and bare wiring that dangled from the ceiling. She had to step carefully to avoid tripping up.

"What happened, girl?" She set the mugs of tea onto a flat section of the console and then reached up to touch the time rotor. "Looks like you've had a rough time of it. Is the Doctor taking care of you, then?"

She ran her hands over the organic fins that radiated downward from the time rotor. Her fingers dipped into a small hole—roughly the size of a bullet, she realized with unease. And where _was_ the Doctor?

"Oh," said the Time Lord in question.

Rose spun around to find him standing in the doorway that led deeper into the TARDIS. He looked uncertain, as though he hadn't expected her to be there. He looked . . . tired. Worn out, she thought. His dark blue suit hung on him as though he'd lost weight recently. He held a small towel in his hands and his hair still dripped from a shower. The Doctor hardly ever needed to bathe—something about his superior biology—so it made Rose even more concerned about what had been going on. Bullet holes in the console, the funny whine in the TARDIS's materialisation sequence, all the obvious repair work, and a Doctor freshly bathed and smelling of vanilla soap.

"Oh," she responded, upon blinking and finding the Doctor less than a foot away from her. This close, she could see a haze of beard on his jawline, something that usually took months without shaving to grow. She could see shadows under his eyes, and when she met his gaze, she recognized the depth of exhaustion there, accompanied by despair, longing, and misery. Without even thinking, she cupped his cheek. "What happened?"

From the lower edge of her vision, she saw his Adam's apple jump as he swallowed. He reached up to where her hand touched his face and when his fingers covered hers, he squeezed his eyes shut. His breath began to come raggedly, and Rose grew apprehensive.

"Doctor?" she said softly, worried.

His eyes jerked open and he looked almost startled. Again, he said, "Oh."

And before she could ask again, he'd closed the remaining inches between them. Their hips bumped together and a hand at the small of her back sent shivers through her. She heard the hand-towel drop to the grating at her feet and then both of the Doctor's hands tugged at her. His cheek pressed against hers, rough with stubble, and then the whole length of his body trembled against her. She wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she could, troubled at the idea of anything being able to distress the Doctor like this. She opened her mouth to ask once more what had happened, only to realize that the back beneath her hands was heaving as the Doctor silently cried.

It broke Rose's heart and, as her eyes filled with tears of empathy, she vowed to extract revenge on whoever had done this to the Doctor. She'd never seen him cry, not once in the eighteen months they'd spent together. The old him, before he'd regenerated, used to get distant and sad-looking if something had reminded him of his lost home, but not even when he'd run into the "last" Dalek had he come close to actually weeping. And when they'd discovered the Dalek fleet hiding at the edge of the solar system, he'd got cross enough to mask his fear and melancholy.

Had it been Daleks, again, then? Surely not! They'd destroyed the Emperor and his fleet—_she_ had destroyed the last Daleks in this universe, turned them to dust with a wave of her hand and the power of the Bad Wolf. With such power at her disposal, why then, hadn't she looked into the future and foreseen this? Surely the Bad Wolf had known what would happen, this inevitable separation, and could have made arrangements to prevent it—or at the very least, to protect the Doctor.

But then, maybe she had.

An unexpected frisson shot through her at the idea that Bad Wolf _had_ foreseen, and had arranged for this three day period: three chances for the Doctor to be with her again, three chances for him to breathe and convalesce and heal.

The first time, only yesterday for her, had been shortly after he'd lost her, when he'd been so alone and miserable. She'd seen the difference in his eyes as the day went on and knew that even the short allotment of time with her had helped him to gain perspective and had given him the strength to face the universe once more. He'd said that he would wait as long as he could before returning to her, to make the most of a limited opportunity. So why was he here at this time? Obviously something terrible had happened—to him, and to the TARDIS. She hoped he hadn't lost a companion, but she couldn't imagine what else could be so heart-rending . . . unless it had something to do with his world or his people. But he'd already lost all of them, by his own hand. How much worse could it get?

Rose waited until the Doctor finally stilled against her. She ran one comforting hand down his back and in a low voice, asked, "What is it? What's happened?"

He straightened, still clinging to Rose, but would not look at her. She could hear tiny vocalizations as he tried to speak, but finally he exhaled in defeat and lowered his head to her shoulder. What could be so bad that the Doctor—famous for his gob—couldn't even find words to describe it? Rose felt helpless, and terrified on his behalf. Her hand rose to his neck; she stroked the cool, damp skin above his collar and whispered, "I'm here, Doctor. It's all right."

His grasp tightened briefly around her in response. Then he raised his head and looked at her for a long, intense moment. During that moment, his hands curved along either side of her face, as though to keep her from vanishing. Then, the grief in his eyes dimmed, overshadowed by an avid blaze of passion. She barely had time to inhale before he dropped his head and found her mouth. As his lips touched hers, a barrage of alien-tinged emotions flooded through her. Need—not flaming or burning but as cold as ice. Yearning—violent, yet tempered by love. Hunger—exquisite and frantic . . . not a matter of want or desire, but of desperate, all-consuming need. He had to have her—or be forever lost.

Rose couldn't give herself to the Doctor, for she'd always been his. But she could meet his subliminal craving with a fierce longing of her own, and as though that triggered a signal of some sort, he began tugging at her clothes, boldly seeking skin. One by one he began to dispatch any obstacles; her hooded jumper ended up somewhere across the room. The lace-trimmed camisole he simply pushed up and out of the way. Her jeans ended up around her ankles. In response, she worked at his pinstriped jacket. Two, three buttons . . . a dozen more on his shirt, and then she made him let go of her for a brief moment in order to slide the clothing off his narrow shoulders. Once the jacket and shirt fell to the ground, he pressed her against the angled side of the console and resumed his interrupted work with a panicked fervour.

"It's all right. I'm not going anywhere," she assured him quietly, as he tried to touch her everywhere at once: the length of her back, the curve of her waist, the slight roundness of her stomach. His fingers and lips kept moving, leaving trails of icy fire in their wake. The searingly cold caress of the Doctor's body left Rose shivering and burning and wanting so much more. She'd never felt this before—this compulsion to merge so completely with another person; it should have frightened her, but like any other adventure with the Doctor, she felt no fear as long as he held her hand.

She could feel his emotions changing with her touch, pulsing just beneath his skin, his desire contradictorily both tempered and unleashed. Another kiss, this time with nothing between them but bare flesh, came with another onslaught of pure thought from the Doctor. Her mind interpreted the alien wash of emotion as colour: the glowing crimson of _need_; the deep violet of _loneliness_, tinged with the yellow-green of _guilt_ and the blue-black of _grief_; and the brilliant pink of _love_, pulsing with the lavender of_ sorrow _and the liquid gold of . . . of . . . Time itself, immortal and surging about them.

From the fringes of her awareness, Rose felt the Doctor moving within her, body and mind. And then her perceptions expanded, and she felt herself falling . . . falling into the universe that surrounded them. She watched as galaxies spun through the great blackness of space, as stars winked into existence then collapsed into tiny flares of light. One of those stars pulled her in, and then went nova; she flew across the universe, a thousand colours blazing around her—through her—and for the space of a heartbeat she could see _everything_. . . .

For few dizzy seconds, Rose felt a serrated ledge supporting her, and the rapid double beat of the Doctor's pulse against her cheek. She gasped for breath, vaguely aware and annoyed that his breathing remained steady and slow. Respiratory bypass, she remembered. Handy in situations like running for your life, or . . . _this_, which felt oddly the same.

She could feel the Doctor trembling against her, but she lacked the strength to hold him any more tightly. Her muscles felt weak and quivery, and she nearly panicked when he started to pull away from her, certain she would fall, but he kept his arms around her and only leaned back enough to look down at her. A huge relief made breathing easier when, for the first time today, she could see the spark of life in his eyes—the Doctor she knew and loved.

"Hello," he murmured, and she clung to him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sometime later, Rose woke to the awareness that her pillow seemed to be alive. It rose and fell beneath her head, leaving her to wonder at her sanity. She opened and closed her eyes a few times and tried to move, but her body refused to cooperate. When she blinked, her pillow vibrated and then spoke.

"That tickles," it said, in a familiar voice.

"What?" she replied incredulously. And then her sleepy mind made the connections and she realized where she was, and more importantly, why her pillow seemed alive.

"That tickles," the Doctor repeated.

"Sorry." She turned her face so that her eyelashes wouldn't brush against the Doctor's bare skin. The ceiling of the console room curved far above them, so she realized that they must be on the floor. A thick layer of blankets padded the metal grating below them, and another soft blanket kept most of the air's chill away. Still, it seemed as though she'd just run through a blizzard; her muscles felt stiff and numb and cold. Clumsily, she rubbed at her eyes and tried to remember how, exactly, she'd ended up on the floor of the console room under a blanket with a very naked Doctor. She remembered him kissing her . . . needing her. And then. . . .

She allowed a small, satisfied smirk. "Is it just me or did the world move?"

"Well . . . we could quote clichés at each other all day, but the truth is, I always feel the turn of the Earth." His arm tightened around her and his voice grew serious. "You saved me. Again."

Rose lifted her head and looked down at the Doctor. "Did I?"

"Oh, yes! I'd say so."

"Well then, that's a new one, yeah? Saved by shagging. Jack would approve." She laughed nervously and ducked her head. This presented her with a grand view of the Doctor's chest, bare and sprinkled with hair and freckles. She began to move her hand across that fine expanse, but he stopped her with a finger to her chin, compelling her to look back up.

"It was more than that," he said, quite solemnly.

And she had to agree. She hadn't been a virgin when she'd met the Doctor, and yet she almost felt like one now. What they'd done had been urgent and desperate, and lacked all of the qualities she normally associated with making love, as opposed to a quick shag . . . and yet, it didn't feel that way.

It felt as though he'd given her his soul for safekeeping, and taken hers in return.

"It was so much more," he repeated, and pressing two of his fingers against her temple, he whispered, "Let me show you."

And a familiar touch moved through her like a river of emotions—a whirlpool of feelings and sensations that pulled her once more into the Doctor's mind. Suddenly she could see herself through his eyes, and she gasped at the wonder of it. All around she could feel a dreadful storm, black and vengeful and deadly, but there at the heart of it all, the winds stood still and the warmth of the sun broke through. That was her, she understood, the eye of the storm—his anchor, his lifeline. Only the fragile touch of her memory stood between the universe and the terrible power of the Oncoming Storm.

_-.-.-.-.-.-.-_

Astonished and humbled, Rose opened her eyes and looked at the Doctor.

"You see?" His hand caressed the side of her face as it dropped from her temple. "I need you, Rose. When you came on board this morning, I was a broken man. What I'd been through . . . the things I'd seen, the things I'd done. . . . I wasn't sure any more if you were real, or if I'd just imagined you—a romantic figure to see me through the terrible times. Someone to remind me of the difference between right and wrong. A reason to keep going on, even when I wanted to die."

Rose had no idea what to say. She murmured his name, but her voice broke midway.

"I'm sorry for being so abrupt with you. I shouldn't have been so . . . demanding," he said, his mood changing in the blink of an eye, as it tended to do. The soft expression on his face began to harden as he recalled the circumstances of their lovemaking. "When I saw you standing beside the console, I truly thought that if I didn't have you—all of you, right then and there—I'd . . . I'd—" he stopped, clearly struggling with himself. "I didn't even stop to question what you wanted."

"Doctor," she said, trying to interrupt his swiftly falling mood before it could get any darker. "You didn't exactly hear me complaining, did you?"

"I didn't give you the chance." He sat up and turned away from her, his face twisted into a mask of self-loathing and regret. "This is who I am now, Rose: the sort of person who takes what he wants and doesn't care about the consequences. I don't save people any more—I hurt them. Everywhere I go. . . ."

"Don't be stupid," she said. "A minute ago, you were going on about how what we did was so much more than just shagging, and now look at you! You won't even face me."

She knelt behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. He flinched, but she kept touching him, moving her fingers in small circles across the back of his shoulders. After a minute, she began adding gentle kisses to his back as she caressed. She could feel his muscles twitching just below his skin, and the shallow expansion of his ribcage as he breathed. When she finally felt him begin to relax, just a little, she spoke again. "I wanted you, Doctor. I've _always_ wanted you, even when you had big ears and a nose Caesar would be proud of."

"Oi," he protested, half-heartedly.

"You said that after we get separated I'll tell you I love you. That hasn't happened yet for me, but I'll say it again, all the same: I love you, Doctor. I always have and I always will. You're part of me, for better or for worse, and I wouldn't change a thing." She kissed the base of his neck, and continued the gentle rhythm of stroking his skin. "When I came in this morning and saw you . . . I don't think I've ever been so scared. Not _of_ you," she added firmly, when she felt him start to pull away, "but _for_ you. You looked so lost—so alone that it broke my heart. I would have done anything to see you smile again."

"Ah, a pity shag, was it?"

She smacked the centre of his back with her palm. "Git! Why can't you just accept that maybe I wanted _you_ every bit as much as you wanted _me_?"

"Maybe because I don't merit anything of the sort. It's the only thing I can figure, after all—that I'm alone because it's what I deserve." His voice sounded detached as he spoke.

"How can you say that? After everything you've done, after all the _good_ you've done?" Rose hitched the blanket about her body and crawled around to sit in front of the Doctor. He turned his head away, but she refused to let that intimidate her. "You've saved the entire universe how many times, now? Not to mention the Earth! Everyone owes you their lives, a hundred times over."

"And how many saved lives does it take to make up for the deaths?" He finally looked right at her, his eyes dark and angry. "I've killed_ billions_, Rose. Billions! You—you have no idea who I am—what I'm capable of. I make decisions every day that impact the lives of every living being on your planet. The thing of it is, even when things work out, even when I stop the villains and save the day, someone always pays the price. Someone always has to be sacrificed for the greater good. Someone always has to _die_, before I can sort everything."

"You're right," she said, and she saw his lips part in surprise, but she kept on. "People die. Innocent people are killed before you can stop things from happening. Brave people give their lives for the greater good, so that their friends and families have a chance at a better life. People die all the time. But d'you know what? That's been happening since the beginning of time. I guarantee it—take me back to the beginning of the universe and I'll show you! People have _always_ been killed by those more vicious and more powerful than they are, and people have _always_ died for what they believe. It's nothing to do with you! But then you come along, and yeah, maybe some people die while you're busy saving the world. But even more would've died if you _hadn't _come along, and the universe would be a lot worse off, I can tell you that."

He shook his head, his jaw set. "You've no idea what you're talking about, Rose."

"Haven't I? Then tell me: how have you been negligent? How could you do any better than you're doing right now? You're just one man! A Time Lord, yeah, but there's no one else helping you. You do it all on your own. And for all that, you still manage to save a dozen galaxies every day before tea."

"Stop it, Rose. Just . . . stop. You don't know."

"Then tell me," she repeated, softening her voice. "I've never seen you like this, Doctor. Even when we faced the Daleks, you still had hope. You still believed in yourself."

"That's because when we faced the Daleks, you were there alongside me." He spoke with a flat, searing edge to his words. "I still had hope, because you _were_ my hope. You saw—I showed you, the image of the storm. All of that rage inside me—so much darkness. Without you, there's nothing to hold me back. Nothing to keep me sane."

"Nah," she answered, folding her arms stubbornly. "I'm not buying that. When I saw you yesterday, you were lost, but you hadn't given up. Not like this. And what about all those years before you met me? Nine hundred years old, you are. Bit late to be developing a dependence."

"Before you, I had my people. Not the most supportive family, I admit, but I wasn't alone."

Rose lifted her eyebrows. "You're not travelling with anybody?"

"No. Well . . . no. It's not worth it, anymore." He caught her concerned expression and groaned theatrically in response. "I pick up people, now and again, just like always. But you _know_ how humans are! So fragile. So stupid. Always getting themselves abducted, or hurt, or killed. Gets tiresome, it really does. Besides, they're just . . . companions. They're not . . . they're not family."

"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but," she leaned forward a bit and lowered her voice, "I'm human, y'know. Born and raised on good ol' planet Earth."

"Maybe, but you're not like the rest of your species," he said, daring a quick glance at her. "You may run off and get yourself in trouble, but just as often you're the one rescuing _me_. Always brimming with questions, you are—good ones. And when the monsters attack, you don't stand there like a lump and scream. Not Rose Tyler! No, you're . . . different."

Rose reached over, took his hand, and squeezed it. The Doctor let out a shuddering breath, but didn't protest when she moved right up alongside him. With a gentle touch, she turned his head toward her. "What's happened to you? What's happened to make you give up?"

For a long moment, she thought he would refuse to answer. But then she recognized the set of his shoulders, stubborn but yielding. He breathed in and out a few times, and then he started talking. He told her about Utopia. He told her about the brilliant spark of hope that he'd had on discovering another Time Lord had survived the War, and how that hope had drowned in the blood of nearly every life on Earth. He told her about Harold Saxon and he told her about the Master.

As the story came rushing out, he moved closer to Rose. Unshed tears filled his eyes, testament to the emotion he wouldn't let himself feel. His voice began to crack as he told her about being utterly helpless, trapped in his own withered body. And he folded in on himself when he told her about the Master dying in his arms, how the only other Time Lord in existence had refused to regenerate out of spite and a twisted sense of triumph.

"You have no idea what it's like to be alone, inside your head," he whispered. "It's . . . it's like wandering through a deserted city in the middle of the night. It's huge—all around you—with so many buildings and roadways, bridges and paths, houses, and shops, and skyscrapers. All of that, and you know it should be filled with life—there should be cars and pedestrians moving about; there should be children shouting and playing; there should be music and laughter. But there isn't, because the whole place is abandoned and lifeless. Not just empty, but dark and still. There's no lights showing anywhere—no traffic signals, or street lamps, not even any stars overhead. So dark. So silent, for so long. And then you see a bit of light in the distance. Just a single candle, flickering in someone's window on the other side of town. It's far away, just this one tiny light, but it's so beautiful . . . it's extraordinary to see it there, to know that _someone_ is out there, that you're not alone after all."

"That one candle . . . you've no idea." He paused, letting out his breath without making a sound. "And then he blew out that tiny little flame, deliberately extinguished it, and left me alone in the dark, again."

Rose held the Doctor with his head cradled on her lap and cried tears of her own.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When she woke again, she found the Doctor leaning against the wall, watching her. She made an incoherent sound and rubbed at her eyes. A yawn forced its way out of her, and she cupped her hands over her mouth to hide it. Finally she sat up, pulling the blanket around her, and ran her fingers through her hair. This was her in the morning, every bit as bad as the Doctor when he'd woken up . . . the difference being that _he_ only had to experience it once every few weeks, while she had to sleep, and therefore wake up, every single day. Entirely unfair.

However, as much as she hated waking up, doing so with the Doctor nearby almost made up for it. Doing so while naked, with an equally naked Doctor nearby . . . well. She could wake up happy every morning for the rest of her life if she had that sort of view to greet her. Even if it did mean that he'd spent the entire night staring at her.

Except, wait. It hadn't been night, had it? It had been morning when she'd arrived. After their long, emotionally-wrought discussion about why the TARDIS had bullet holes in the console, the Doctor had fallen asleep in her lap. The poor thing had been suffering from physical exhaustion on top of everything else, no doubt afraid to sleep alone for fear of being pulled into nightmares with no one to wake him. Rose didn't have a Time Lord's perfect sense of time, but she knew that he'd slept for several hours while she watched over him. And once awake, he'd proceeded to exhaust her once more.

No one had told her that making love with a Time Lord could be so demanding.

"Is that gonna happen every time?" she demanded, feeling the ache in every muscle in her body.

"Oh, I should think so." His voice sounded seductively low, but his eyes glimmered with humour. "Wouldn't be much of a lover, otherwise, would I?"

"Not _that_!" She chucked her pillow in his direction. "I mean the . . . passing out afterwards."

He raised an eyebrow. "D'you mean that isn't normal for humans?"

"Not where I come from. Well, not unless you're a bloke. Mickey used to snore something awful, afterwards." She paused, screwing her face up. "Is this some sort of gender reversal, then? Where I fall asleep and leave you unsatisfied?"

The Doctor crawled over to her, his expression quite serious. "Does this look like the face of an unsatisfied man?"

"Mmmh." Rose reached over and brushed her fingers against his chin. "Now that you mention it, you do look rather smug."

"There you go, then."

They grinned at each other, and Rose felt a huge relief at the sight of the Doctor's giddy smile. All traces of his earlier trauma had vanished, though she realised that he couldn't possibly have healed so completely in just a few hours. At least he'd regained a bit of armour around his soul, though. He'd be able to deal with the rest on his own—most likely in typical Doctor-fashion, by shoving the memories into the deepest corner of his mind and ignoring their existence.

"So," the Doctor said, "Shall we move somewhere more comfortable? I've kept your room, if that wouldn't be too weird for you. Or . . . we could go to mine. I do have one, you know. A bedroom. Hardly used, but it's there."

"So many parts. . . ." With a smirk, Rose lifted her arms above her head and stretched. As a result, the blanket she'd been holding modestly around her chest fell. "But hold on. Have we time?"

"Time machine," he said vaguely, distracted.

"Yes, but. . . ." She shivered from the light touch of his hand. And then she noticed the quiet hum that hovered on the edge of her senses, and looked at the Doctor accusingly. "We're in the Vortex!"

"Hmm? Yes, that's right. I dematerialised the TARDIS whilst you were sleeping. That all right?"

She stared at him, her mouth opening in disbelief. With fear paralysing her thoughts, she could only get out one word, "Paradox!"

"Oh, right." Uneasily, he withdrew his hand and used it to scratch behind his ear. "Shouldn't be a problem. So long as I return you to the right time, everything'll be fine. Better than fine. Grand! Brilliant, even."

"You don't look very confident," she pointed out. "I know all your tells, remember? Running your hand thorough your hair, scratching the back of your neck, pulling on your ear. It means you're nervous."

"It doesn't matter," he said, an urgent edge to his voice. "I need you here, with me. We won't go anywhere, I promise. No risks, no changes to the timeline. Just a little extra time to be together. Please, Rose . . . please."

She reached out and pulled him into a hug. With her head resting on his bare shoulder, she said, "You're the Time Lord. If you say it's all right, then it's all right. Just be careful setting the return coordinates, yeah?"

He sighed gratefully in response, and buried his face in the crook of her neck. After a moment, Rose felt something cool and wet against her skin . . . a tongue, lips, kissing, nuzzling, sucking, nibbling her neck and shoulder. The nerves tingled with every nip and lick, sending pleasant sparks of desire through her body. She could feel his need again, as though it were her own—churning waves of crimson and pink, no longer desperate, but urgent and demanding all the same.

This time, she made him go slow enough that she could explore his body. Her fingers danced over his too-prominent ribs, the flat planes of his stomach, around to the curve of his arse. She memorised every detail of his body, knowing that he had been doing the same to her. After all, once she returned to her own Doctor, she wouldn't get the chance to see him in all his naked splendour, to touch him in all the intimate places that made him gasp—just like that—or to feel the weight of his body above her. Her Doctor still thought they had all the time in the world, and so he would keep his distance, flirtatious but ever-so-chaste, until the day that he would lose her to another universe. She had to remember everything, she had to make these few moments last forever. . . .

The Doctor brushed his lips against her temple; the world rippled and Rose felt herself pulled into that river once more.

_(To Be Continued. . . .)_


	3. When the Day Sleeps

**Chapter Three – _When the Day Sleeps_**

"_Who can say when the day sleeps, if the night keeps all your heart?" —Enya_

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

With a half-eaten breakfast pastry clenched between her teeth, Rose attempted to zip her coat and manoeuvre down the stairs at the same time. Once she'd finished adjusting her clothes, she tore a bite out of the sweet pastry and took the steps as quickly as she dared. The muscles in her thighs ached with each step, a reminder of everything that had happened the day before. Well, day . . . week, same difference. They'd been in the vortex, where time had no meaning, but she estimated they'd spent about a week together before he'd reluctantly dropped her off. His timing had been unusually precise, for he'd brought her back on the same day that they'd left. He'd even left her time enough to sleep in, and she'd needed that, for their last hours together hadn't been idle. In fact, she rather fancied the Doctor could give Jack a new definition for the phrase "flexible".

Just as she reached the ground level, Rose could hear the beautiful sound of the universe tearing itself open. He'd better have some tea ready, she thought as she ran toward the TARDIS. Only for him would she be up this early in the morning, and even then, only because the circumstances were unlikely to occur again.

As happy as she'd be to see him again, though, she wondered what kind of state she'd find him in. He'd always shown up when he needed her the most, and he'd told her that he'd hold off on this last visit for as long as possible. What would she find when she stepped into the TARDIS? A Doctor broken in spirit, like yesterday? Or maybe injured, bleeding and dying, wanting to see her one last time before he regenerated. What if he'd already regenerated. . . ?

"Just like always, eh Rose?"

She stopped short, a few feet from the TARDIS. To her consternation, Mickey stood beside the blue box with his arms crossed.

"He shows up and you come running," Mickey continued. "Doesn't matter that he's early, or that we're supposed to spend this holiday together, away from 'im. No aliens, no invasions, no freaky stuff. Just you and me, a couple of pints, and a football match on the telly. Is that so much to ask, Rose?"

"Mickey, I. . . ." She stopped, having no idea how to explain the situation. He'd dealt with Slitheen, Krillitane, and clockwork robots, but a future Doctor?

"Look, I know you'd rather be with 'im than with me. I figured that out long ago," Mickey said gruffly. "But you don't even bother telling me that our weekend's been cancelled! Just a text message on my mobile that says you're not coming over. I rang up your mum to ask was everything all right, but she tells me she hasn't seen you for two days."

"I've been home every night," Rose protested.

Mickey nodded thoughtfully. "He's been here the whole bleeding time, and you've been sneaking off to see 'im every day. I'm surprised you even bothered to come home at night."

"Mickey, it's not like that." But it was, wasn't it? At least, it was with the older Doctor, the one from the future. She didn't even know where to begin to explain to Mickey. She opened her mouth, hoping the right words would somehow come out, but the Doctor saved her the trouble by opening the TARDIS door and sticking his head out.

"Rose! There you are." He grinned at her lopsidedly. "Been wondering what was taking you so long. You going to come inside?"

She shifted uncomfortably and toyed with the TARDIS key that hung from her neck. Her gaze went from the Doctor to Mickey and back again.

"What? What is it?" The Doctor leaned out of the door and looked around. "Blimey! If it isn't Mickey the Idiot. Er . . . no, sorry about that. Shouldn't call you that, should I? Old habits. Anyway, good to see you again, Mickey. How've you been?"

"Fine."

"Splendid! Now, then, if you'll excuse us . . . I haven't seen Rose in ages and I'd really like to spend some time with her, if that's all right with you. It is all right, isn't it?"

Mickey snorted. "As if I have any say in the matter."

The Doctor sobered his expression and opened the door just wide enough to squeeze through. He didn't step out, but leaned against the other door. "Look, Mickey, there's something you should know. . . ."

"Your hair," Rose interrupted. She covered her mouth, but her eyes widened with astonishment.

"What? Did I forget to comb this morning?" He picked at his fringe, frowning.

Mickey narrowed his eyes. "You've gone grey, Doctor. Just how long have you been gone, anyway? Spend a few decades sulking and then decide to come back for us—is that it?"

"Don't be stupid, Mickey." Rose studied the Doctor carefully. The grey only touched his temples, lending him an intelligent sophistication. Beyond that, she noticed wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and other small signs of age. Obviously he'd waited quite awhile before coming to see her this one last time.

"I'm not your Doctor," he said to Mickey, as if that explained everything. His eyes never left Rose.

Mickey frowned. "You're from the future, then, yeah?"

Rose stepped over to Mickey's side and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Our Doctor, the one who dropped us off two days ago, he'll be back tomorrow morning. This one's from the future, just like you figured."

"How far?" Mickey asked, glancing at the Doctor. "You look pretty old—middle aged, at least. For you, that's gotta be a long time."

He nodded in reply. "From your point of view, it's been . . . oh, about sixty years, give or take. Well, I say _sixty_ . . . I suppose it's more like seventy. Could be seventy-five. . . eighty? Err. Maybe a bit more than that, actually."

Rose made a small noise of dismay.

Mickey gave her a quick glance, then jerked his head at the Doctor. "So, whatcha doing here? Isn't this against the rules, or something?"

The Doctor shrugged. "I needed to come." He started to say more, but stopped and closed his mouth.

"Right, I get it," Mickey said. "You can't say much. Timelines and paradoxes and that sort of thing, am I right?"

"Give the man a medal," the Doctor replied, grinning.

Mickey's eyes showed a resigned sadness when he looked at Rose. Obviously he'd guessed that something would happen to her sometime in the future. It would be the most logical reason for a future version of the Doctor to visit her, here and now. He pulled her into a hug. "Be careful," he murmured as he squeezed her.

"I will." She hugged him back, then let go.

He moved closer to the TARDIS and reached out to shake the Doctor's hand. Neither man said anything, but met each other's gaze with understanding. The Doctor thumped Mickey on the shoulder, and then with a final glance at Rose, Mickey turned and walked away.

Rose let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Without conscious effort, she found herself moving toward the Doctor's embrace. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her shoulder. She didn't sense the devastating loss that he'd radiated last time, but still he held onto her as though he'd never let go. Finally, he loosened his grip and slid his hand up to her cheek. He leaned forward, and his lips met hers, but before he could kiss her properly, a voice from within the TARDIS interrupted.

"Hey, Doc, what's the hold up? Is she out there, or isn't she?"

The Doctor groaned and pressed his forehead against Rose, soaking her in her presence for a few seconds, and then he straightened and smiled broadly. "I've a surprise for you, Rose. Decided to do it now, in case. . . ." His smile faltered. "Well, in case I don't get another chance."

Rose nodded, fully aware that from the Doctor's point of view this would be their last day together.

The Doctor kept one hand firmly entwined with hers while he led her into the TARDIS. The lighting flickered, and Rose leaned across the railing to pat the nearest coral-encrusted column. "Good to see you again," she said with affection to the TARDIS. In return, she felt a welcoming nudge at the fringes of her mind.

"Hey, what about me?" protested the man waiting near the console.

A shiver of disbelief coursed though Rose as she turned. She knew that voice . . . but it couldn't be. It really couldn't be. . . .

"Jack," she whispered. Tears filled her eyes and then she found herself in his arms. Jack lifted her into the air and spun around with the exuberance of his hug, and she clung to him, laughing and crying at the same time.

He set her back down, but kept one arm around her waist. With the other hand, he gently rubbed the moisture from beneath her eyes. "What's with the tears, Rosie? Aren't you happy to see Captain Jack?"

"Happy?" She gave a shaky laugh and hugged him again. He looked just like she remembered, though his hair had been cut into a more fashionable style, and he'd lost the leather trousers and gained a vintage greatcoat. He even smelled just like she remembered, with a hint of alien cologne, and his arms curving around her felt so familiar, so solid and comforting. Oh, how she'd missed him. "You've no idea. Jack, I thought you were dead! The Doctor said . . . oh, God." Her gaze found the Doctor, standing nearby with a not-quite-jealous expression on his face. "You didn't. You went back, didn't you? You crossed your timeline and stole 'im!"

"What? I did not!" The Doctor looked indignant, but then he suddenly wouldn't look at her and his fingers crept up to tug on his ear.

"You did! Oh, my God." She took a step away from Jack. "Take 'im back. Right now! You have to take 'im back. How could you even do something like this?"

"Rose, relax," Jack said, reaching out and grasping her by the shoulders. "It's all right. The Doctor didn't steal me from the past. He stole me from the future, actually. And not so much _stole_ as invited to come along. I couldn't pass up the chance to see you again."

She shook her head, fresh tears leaving diluted mascara trails down her cheeks. "But you can't be from the future. Not when you . . . you died. The Daleks killed you, and we left your body on that horrid station."

"That isn't exactly what happened," Jack said softly. She saw him give a stern look to the Doctor and receive a slight nod in reply, but she had no idea what silent communication had just passed between them. "The Daleks didn't kill me. I survived, and I made it back to Earth. Been living in Cardiff, actually."

"They didn't. . . ." She frowned, her mind sorting through this unexpected turn of events. If the Daleks hadn't killed him, then. . . . She gasped and looked at the Doctor in anguish and accusation. "That means we left 'im behind. We left 'im there!"

"Rose," Jack said, forcing her to look at him. "It isn't your fault. The Doctor was dying, right? He had to get somewhere safe, so he could regenerate. And after that, he was ill. You remember that? How he slept for so long? Regeneration sickness can affect a Time Lord's senses and even his memory, so even after he recovered, he didn't know that I'd survived. It's all right. I made it back home, even if it was the wrong year. Not like I wanted to go back to the fifty-first century, anyway."

She wasn't entirely sure that Jack was telling her the truth—and what was with the looks he kept trading with the Doctor? Still, he didn't seem upset about the fact that they'd left him behind. If he could forgive her and the Doctor, then she supposed that she could let it go.

The day couldn't get any better, could it? She had a Doctor who loved her, who kept looking at her when he thought she wasn't paying attention . . . and they had Jack again. The old team, back together. She focused on that, and tried to ignore the fact that they only had this one day, and then she would have to return to her own timeline, with her own Doctor, who thought Jack had died and who refused to admit that he loved her.

_-.-.-.-.-.-.-_

Once again, the Doctor cheated time and took them into the vortex. In that way, he could prolong this last chance and give Rose plenty of time with both Jack and himself. They spent the day together, rekindling that chemistry that had bonded the three of them into a family so long ago. The TARDIS didn't adhere to a proper circadian rhythm, but when Rose began to show signs of fatigue, Jack declared the day over.

"It's time I was getting back," he said with a wink, "and well past time the two of you headed for bed."

"That can wait," Rose protested, sure that her cheeks had turned pink, and though the Doctor didn't quite argue, he didn't look extremely happy at her declaration, either. He scratched at the back of his neck before sliding his hand into Rose's and nodding in agreement.

But Jack smiled wistfully. "This might be your last chance to be with the woman you love. I'm not gonna stick around and get in the way. I just wanted to see my girl again, and. . . ." He paused, sharing another enigmatic glance with the Doctor, and then shrugged. "I wanted to say thank you, Rose."

The Doctor stepped away and discreetly began setting coordinates for Cardiff, while Jack sat down on the jump seat beside Rose.

She leaned into Jack's embrace, resting her head on his chest. "Thank you for what?"

When he looked down at her, she could see something hidden in his expression: gratitude, as he said, but mixed with a trace of bitter resignation. She wondered about the cause, realising that she knew hardly anything about his life since they'd left him for dead, thousands of years in the future. But then he smiled, and she could see nothing but affection and appreciation. "Thank you for loving me. Thank you for wanting me to live."

Her forehead wrinkled. "Of course I want you to live . . . and I can't help loving you, can I?" she added teasingly.

Jack responded with a twinkle in his eyes. "No, I don't suppose you can. The Blitz, right? Be honest—no one can resist dancing on an invisible spaceship tethered to Big Ben, with bombs going off all around us."

"Oh, yeah. Most romantic thing in the world." She rolled her eyes and grinned.

"Oi," the Doctor interrupted with a hint of a pout. "No flirting with my woman, Captain!"

"Right, sorry." Jack hugged Rose again, and pressed a kiss to her forehead, just as the TARDIS began to materialise. "I guess this is it, huh?"

Tears burned her eyes again. She'd only just got Jack back, and now she had to lose him again, all because the timeline said that they didn't reunite before she got pulled into the other universe. She let out a shuddering breath. "Am I ever gonna see you again?"

The Doctor jerked at her words. Jack and Rose both turned their heads to look at him. Swallowing convulsively and looking haunted, he answered on Jack's behalf, "You can't."

Rose tried to hold back a sob and failed. Jack held her as she cried for him, stroking her hair soothingly. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy with unshed tears, even as he looked over her head at the Doctor. "You're _sure_ you can't get to that other universe? There's gotta be some way. . . . You're the most brilliant man in the universe, and you can't figure it out?"

"You think I haven't tried?" The Doctor leaned against the console and shoved his hands into his pockets. His eyes showed an impossible weariness, the result of decades of being alone, and when he shook his head, it was with painful resignation. "There's no way across. Trying to pierce the Void now would tear a hole in reality. At best, both planets would be destroyed; at worst, both universes would collapse."

"So that's it, then," Rose said, wiping at her face with a handkerchief Jack provided. It felt as though someone had punched her in the stomach. Yesterday, she'd dealt with the idea that she would be separated from the Doctor; she'd been strong because he needed her to be, but the reality of it hadn't sunk in—not until now, when faced with the immediate loss of the man who'd been like a brother to her, and the Doctor admitting that he had no way to get her back. Impossible had always been just an inconvenience, but now. . . . She tore her gaze from Jack and focused on the Doctor. "I'm not gonna see Jack again. And in a few months, I'm gonna get pulled to another universe and I won't see you again, not ever. I'll be alone, for the rest of my life."

"No," the Doctor said firmly. "Not alone. I told you, your mum goes with you, and so does Mickey. You'll have your family."

"Not all of it."

The Doctor crossed the short distance to the jump seat and knelt in front of Rose. He looked at her helplessly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"At least you had these three days," she said, not in accusation, just matter-of-fact. "You got to see me again, after you lost me. But me? Once I'm in that other universe, I'll be stuck there. No second chances."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, and she saw a glimmer of tears that the Doctor couldn't hold back.

Beside her, Jack made a rude noise. "Doc . . . c'mon! There's gotta be a way. You can't just . . . give up and let this happen. It isn't fair—not to you, not to me, and not to Rose. Now, what can we do?"

The Doctor sighed, and when he spoke, his voice sounded flat and tired. "If my people were still alive . . . but they're gone. There's no one left with the power to safely breach the Void."

"What about the way she got there? A crack between universes, isn't that what you said?"

"The breach through the Void is closed, Jack. I closed it—and there's irony for you. I sealed the gap to keep both worlds safe. There's no crossing over, not anymore."

Rose tilted her head. "Not anymore? Okay, so call me a stupid ape, but . . . time machine, yeah? Why not just go back in time to when this breach was still open? Go back, slip across to the other universe, grab me, and come home."

"It's not as _simple_ as that," the Doctor snapped, frustration colouring his tone. "Don't you think I would've. . . ." His voice trailed off and his face went suddenly blank. Rose recognized that look, something he did when thinking furiously. For a moment, she almost dared hope, but she clamped down on the feeling. The Doctor had spent a very long time without her. If a way existed to bring her back from this thieving universe, he would've found it long ago.

And yet, he knelt there, now, staring at Jack with his mouth gaping. Abruptly, he stood and turned away from the two of them. Rose untangled herself from Jack's hold and sat upright. The sick feeling in her stomach fluttered as the Doctor began to pace. He muttered to himself, took several steps, then twisted on one foot and strode back toward them. Before he came near, however, he ran a hand through his hair and spun back away.

"Impossible," he murmured, "But plausible. And so simple! Why didn't I. . . ? I should've seen it. An elementary concept, but I should've at least_ thought_ of it."

Jack grinned. "What can you say? She's a genius! So, what do you think—will it work? It's maybe bending the rules, but it shouldn't cause a paradox or anything, right?"

"No . . . I don't know. There's a very limited window between when the breach becomes stable enough for the TARDIS to pass through and when it collapses in on itself. I just . . . I don't know." He combed through his hair again, and Rose giggled at the sight of it standing on end. It reminded her of how he'd looked upon waking up after an exhausting session of lovemaking. Or after being chased by the colossal sludge ogre of P'r. She snorted in an attempt to stop laughing, but by now she recognized that she was slightly hysterical.

"I'll have to do some calculations. I have to see. . . ." And he turned away again, lost in thought.

"Well, that'll be my cue, then." Jack stood and with the Doctor utterly distracted, he leaned down to kiss Rose—sweet and chaste, filled with trust and devotion. "If it's meant to be, he'll find a way. So, this isn't goodbye, all right? Not like last time."

Rose nodded, but the knot in her throat wouldn't let her respond.

"I love you," he said quietly, while hugging her. And then he left, and she felt her heart break all over again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Rose. . . ."

She opened her eyes, not sure what had woken her. The Doctor whispered her name again, and she turned her head to find him watching her from the other side of the bed. His eyes gleamed in the dim light. He reached over and ran his fingers down the bare centre of her back, tracing the curve of her spine, and smiling at the way she shivered.

"I've done it," he murmured, while sliding his hand lower. "I found a way."

And then she remembered. With a start, she propped herself up on her elbows and looked at the Doctor. Uncertainly, she asked, "To cross over?"

"Yup." And he enunciated the last consonant in a very self-satisfied manner.

Rose turned onto her side and faced him. "What's that mean, then?"

"It means that you are brilliant, and that you . . . you have a choice to make." With obvious reluctance, he stopped touching her. She didn't know what he meant, exactly, but when she didn't say anything, the Doctor's face hardened ever so slightly and she could feel him distancing himself.

"Don't do that," she said, grabbing his hand. She pulled it to her chest and held it there, over her heart. "I just need you to explain a bit, yeah? Don't have the benefit of having lived through it all, have I? So give me a bit more to go on."

With a sigh, the Doctor let his head flop onto the pillow. "I shouldn't even have said anything. You're happy, there. I've no right to interfere. You've your mum, and Mickey. . . ."

"So you've said. And like I've said, they're only part of what I need to be happy. If you're a universe away, then I guarantee you that I'm miserable. And you interfere all the time—it's what you do. Now, go on. You were saying something about a choice?"

"Rose . . . I haven't got the right. You're with your _family_, over there. You've a chance at a normal life. I never should have listened to Jack. I shouldn't have got my hopes up, not when it means forcing you to leave everyone you love behind." His fingers tightened around hers, and his voice took on a steel edge. "Yes, I can go through, and I can bring you back before the breach closes. But it would mean separating you from them. It would mean forcing you to turn your back on your family. I won't do that. I won't make you choose between me and them."

"Seems to me that I made my choice a long time ago, Doctor. Haven't seen anything to make me change my mind. Besides, why couldn't you just bring Mum and Mickey back, too?"

He covered his eyes and let out a long breath. "Mickey belongs there. He has a job, with Torchwood. His grandmother is still alive. He made that choice years ago. Your mum . . . well, she won't want to leave, either. There's something I haven't told you, about this other universe. Your father . . . he's alive, over there. And I sort of . . . fixed him up with your mother. They're together. A perfect match, really. They're expecting a baby, or so you told me, when we said goodbye."

She made a tiny noise of shock. "My . . . dad?"

"That's right."

"A parallel universe, and my dad's still alive?"

"Not much of choice, is it?" he said flatly.

Rose hesitated only for a moment before replying, "No, it's not."

"Right, then." The Doctor pulled his hand from hers and sat up without looking at her. "Guess that's that. Like you once said—wouldn't have missed it for the world. But everything ends, right? Life goes on. New worlds to see, new companions to make, new trouble to get into. You'd best . . . get some clothes on. Don't worry, I'll get you back in plenty of time. Wouldn't want to cause a paradox."

"Wait a minute! I thought you said I had a choice," she protested.

"You do. You always do," he replied, as he stood. His shirt sleeves had been rolled up to his shoulders, and his trousers had wrinkles from the hours he'd spent in the library, working on the necessary calculations. Once on his feet, he tugged at his sleeves, trying to straighten them. "Unlike my predecessor, I refuse to manipulate you into coming with me. Granted, who _wouldn't_ choose riding out a plasma storm over their mum's shepherd pie? Still, it's a bit of a cheap trick, and I won't do it. It's all right," he added, softening just a little. "I don't blame you, Rose. Your mum and dad? It's what you've always wanted."

"You're wrong," she said, crossing the bed on her knees. The mattress gave beneath her, so that she almost lost her balance, but she knelt on the edge of the bed, naked and determined. "In fact, you're very wrong. My dad died saving the world."

He dared a glance at her, a confused wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. "Parallel world, Rose. That Pete Tyler didn't die. He's very much alive."

"Then he isn't my dad."

The wrinkle deepened. "Well, no. Not _technically_. But he _is_ Pete Tyler, and he _is_ married to your mum. Your _real_ mum."

"I don't care. I'm not leaving you."

The Doctor looked awfully cute when flummoxed, Rose decided. He looked even better after being thoroughly snogged, though, so she tugged his head down to hers. As her lips met his, she could feel his _perplexity_, a swirling mass of blue and lime green that shifted to a sudden blaze of orange _understanding_,and then rapidly cycled through the entire spectrum of colours.

She broke from the kiss long enough to say, "As soon as we're done here, you're gonna go rescue my future-self, yeah?"

"Your wish is my command," he finally replied, and then he kissed her with such depth of emotion that another wave of brilliant colours threatened to overwhelm her. He wouldn't say aloud that he loved her, but why bother when she could _feel_ his love? The Doctor loved her—_needed_ her—and how could she refuse him?

Her clothes were already gone, discarded earlier in the day when the Doctor had taken a much needed break from his calculations. The way that his touch ghosted across her skin, leaving trails of burning desire, filled Rose with the compulsion to return the favour and so she began to grapple with the buttons of his shirt. While she popped them one by one, the Doctor kept busy with his hands and mouth—exploring, licking, stroking, nibbling. By the time she managed to get him as naked as herself, her body ached with a perfect echo of the Doctor's desire for her.

There had never been a question of whom would she choose. She loved her mum and Mickey, both, but they didn't need her. Not like the Doctor did. They would mourn her loss, but they would move on, and eventually they would heal. After nearly a century, the Doctor still burned for her in every cell of his body. Joined like this, she could feel them—tiny flickers of pain and pleasure that could not be quenched.

Besides, who else but the Doctor could take her to the stars, quite literally? Skin against skin, fire and ice, the Oncoming Storm and the Bad Wolf. He brushed his lips against her forehead, and his light engulfed her. She arched and fell . . . so far, through darkness, pinpricked with the light of newborn stars.

On the edge of the universe, a vast maelstrom of light and energy appeared, rippling with gold and blue and crimson. It sang to Rose, and she felt herself caught in a swift undercurrent. As she plummeted, the brilliance surrounded her, bathed her in its primal beauty, and somehow—impossibly—she recognized it. Eternity itself threatened to draw her in . . . but at the last moment, the golden strands of Time caught her and swiftly eased her to safety.

She could feel the Doctor's body against hers, a counterpoint to the feverish heat that lingered under her skin. He made a contented noise beside her ear, and then his fingers caressed upward along her left cheekbone, skimmed around her eye, and came to rest at the vulnerable dip of her temple. Fluid, beautiful words filtered through to her mind, but she couldn't translate them . . . could barely recognize them as his thoughts, not meant for her to understand—not yet—and then her memories of the past three days began to fade, and a pleasant heaviness spread through her, dragging her into an unnatural sleep.

_(To Be Concluded. . . .)_


	4. When the Roads Meet

**Epilogue – _When the Roads Meet_**

_"Who can say when the roads meet, that love might be in your heart? . . . Only time."_ —Enya

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

For weeks, Rose had waited in this parallel universe, hoping the Doctor would find a way through. And when she'd finally heard his voice, whispering in her dreams, she'd known, somehow, that he wouldn't be coming for her. The valiant child had died, leaving a woman in her place. Now she understood pain and devastating loss. Now she wore a black leather jacket, just like her first Doctor had, a barrier against the world, but it didn't keep out the icy wind that blew along the beach in Norway.

The Doctor stood before her, a hologram, an image projected across time and space to tell her goodbye. It reminded her of another hologram, and another Doctor who'd said goodbye and told her to have a fantastic life.

This couldn't be happening. How could she face the world without a hand to hold?

"I love you," she said, hating the way her voice pitched upward and cracked. She didn't want him to see her like this, with her eyes red from crying and her face swollen from grief. She didn't want his last vision of her to be of a sobbing wreck. He deserved better than that. But her breaths came out shuddering, and tears continued to fall from her eyes. She couldn't help it—she would never see the Doctor again, and that thought alone was the only thing that could break her.

The Doctor didn't seem especially pleased at the thought, either. His throat convulsed as he swallowed and tried to smile, just a little, and his eyes looked at her, fathomless and dark. "Quite right, too."

Now _that_ she ought to have expected, the cocky git. What she didn't expect was for him to try and return the sentiment, looking desperate and vulnerable.

"And I suppose . . . it's my last chance to say it." His chest moved as he let out the breath he'd been holding. "Rose Tyler. . . ."

And before he could say anything further, the hologram vanished, leaving her alone on a cold beach. The Time Lord had misjudged the time they had to say goodbye, and with that miscalculation had robbed them both of any sort of closure. The pain of it nearly doubled Rose over. It hurt as though she'd been physically assaulted, but the agony of a broken heart would leave no bruises.

She fell to her knees on the damp sand. From far away she could hear her mum's voice, but she couldn't respond. It hurt even to breathe.

But as she curled up on herself, something unexpected happened. She heard the Doctor's whisper on the wind, calling her name. When she raised her head, she felt the phantom brush of his fingers against her temple . . . and then she _remembered_.

The TARDIS, where it shouldn't be, after their disastrous trip to a 51st century spaceship. The Doctor, older and sadder, wearing a blue suit. A paradox, carefully manipulated to give him three chances to be with her after losing her to this universe. A century of loneliness. A casual suggestion that turned out to be the key to impossible. . . .

She gasped with the surge of hope that came with memory. And then she heard an all-too-familiar sound mixing with the crash of the waves on the beach. Tears blurred her vision, but she didn't need to see clearly to recognize the solid blue form of the TARDIS.

And then he stood in front of her, his hair touched with grey and the edges of his eyes marked with age and the weight of so many years without her. But it didn't matter, because he'd come back for her, and her hand still fit perfectly in his.

"I remember," she whispered, as he hugged the breath out of her. "Those three days, I remember them."

He grinned and loosened his grasp enough to look at her. "Of course you do. I had to hide the memories 'til now, because it isn't safe to know too much about your own future, and you had months to go with the younger me. But I left a trigger, so that once it was safe—once you were here, and we'd said goodbye—the barrier would fall and you'd remember everything. So that you'd know that I was on my way."

Her time trapped on Pete's world had been filled with misery, and she started to chide him for letting her worry for so long, but then she realized how long _he_ had been without hope of seeing her again . . . and it made her few weeks seem like nothing. So, instead of scolding the Doctor, she hugged him. And when she kissed him, it felt as though she'd never done so before, and as if she'd been doing it all her life.

"There's just one thing," she said quietly. "I couldn't make sense of it before, what with those memories hidden, because you and I had never . . . but now I know that we have."

"Mmm. Indeed we have." He smirked in a way that made Rose blush and duck her head.

"It's just. . . ." She stopped and fidgeted with her hair. From the corner of her eye, she could see her mum and dad and Mickey approaching, and she certainly didn't want them to overhear this. So she pushed on, despite the blood rushing to her face. "You remember that fairy tale? The one about Cinderella, only it was really a bloke?"

"Yup. The one with the festival every year, everyone wearing masks. Should take you to one of those, sometime. Those Britons knew how to party."

Rose slid her hands from the Doctor's shoulders, down to his chest. Her fingers played with his lapels. "Remember you said that it wasn't a dropped glass slipper that proved who he was?"

"Be a bit silly to make a shoe entirely out of glass, now wouldn't it? On the fourth year he went to the festival and. . . ." He blinked. And blinked again. His jaw fell, but he said nothing. He shut his mouth, and then he opened it again. When he finally managed to speak, her name came out rather strangled and high-pitched. "Rose . . . ?"

"Here I was thinking I must've got _really_ drunk and seduced Mickey after Canary Wharf, but it was you, all along."

"Mickey?" he yelped indignantly, his voice rising in pitch even further.

Blithely ignoring him, she went on, "Definitely explains a few things: the doctors at Torchwood said my hormone levels were much too high for sixteen weeks gone. Closer to six or seven months, and since I'm not quite showing yet . . . well, let's just say they were getting a bit _too_ interested in my case. Must be Time Lord biology: so superior that it takes twice as long to grow a baby."

She grinned, highly amused as he stared at her, nonplussed and speechless. She didn't ever want to forget the expression on his face—a perfect blend of awe, shock, disbelief, and euphoria. He shook his head, and then wrapped his arms around her.

"Rose Tyler," he whispered against her ear, "Seems to me that we've some unfinished business, you and I."

"Have we?" She pulled back to meet his gaze, and his eyes sparkled with the light of a thousand setting suns.

"That's right. Now, unless I'm very much mistaken . . . I believe you said something about forever?"

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Once again, I'd like to thank **ShinyOpals** for her beta-reading and Brit-picking! And I'd also like to thank everyone who's taken the time to review the story. Your comments mean a lot to me!_


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